Contagious
by strayphoenix
Summary: At the end of "One Flu Over the Cuckoos", Duncan manages to convince the other Gaffers to nominate him to win the Trip to the Spa reward. But it's not his *parole officer* who's waiting for him in the Lame-O-Sine... DxC


Disclaimer: This is what you get when you watch multiple TDI and TDA episodes out of order (specifically "Total Drama Drama Drama Drama Island" and "One Flu Over the Cuckoos") in the same 12 hours then blend it with two day's worth of "You're Love is My Drug" by Ke$ha on repeat.

* * *

"I don't know why all you losers are still discussing this," Duncan scoffed and rolled his eyes a full 360 degrees. Jabbing a finger in the direction of his own torso, he took it upon himself to inform them, "_I'm _the one going on this spa trip."

"Oh?" Harold asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow above the line of his glasses. "And how exactly did you come to that—?"

Before he could finish the sentence, Duncan easily reached over and grabbed the nerd by the front of the shirt, lifting him off the ground.

"_Because_," the punk explained with artificial calm, "not only did I risk _my_ life _and_ solve the challenge to save all your lives, I _graciously _let you all live after the fact.

"_Right_?" He gave Harold a hard shake for emphasis.

"Put him _down_, Duncan!" Leshawna spat, plucking the struggling nerd from Duncan's grasp and setting him aside to manage his breathing. She planted her hands on her large hips and asked with her usual sass, "And just _who_ do you think helped you solve our fake disease outbreak?"

"Um, _I_ found out the books were fake," he reminded her, dodging the question as the other Gaffers looked on. "_And _it was my idea to not study _first_."

"The Hell? It was _my_ idea to not study first!"

"Uh…guys?" DJ started, hoping to offer a peaceful resolution. Neither of the verbal combatants even noticed his attempted words of solace.

"You listen here, white boy! _I'm_ going on this trip with my cousin!" Leshawna barked, striding up into Duncan's face. "_I'm_ the one who didn't eat the pizza and found about all the messed up stuff Chef dumped in it!"

Duncan somehow managed to repress the urge to flinch at Leshawna's proximity and volume. "Yeah? Well we wouldn't have found _that _out if _I_ hadn't eaten the pizza and checked in for the night too!"

The large sister threw her hands up in the air, incredulous. "You don't even _like _your parole officer! Why in heaven are you so damn adamant to spend a whole _weekend_ with him?"

"So what if I hate him?" the delinquent countered, crossing his arms. "Still beats hanging around here with _you_ chumps!"

Leshawna started to respond with something rude but then popped her mouth shut as an idea came to her. A confident smirk that Duncan didn't like one bit spreading across her lips, she answered, "Fair enough, Juvie. You can have the trip."

Duncan raised half of his unibrow incredulously. The loud and proud sister from the hood _never _gave in so easily. "_But…?_" he hedged, waiting for the ultimatum.

She got up closer to him, close enough that none of the others could hear her. "Alliance," she spat bluntly, the word like a command. "You, me, and Harold. No arguments, no bitching. The _second_ Heather's off, you two can go right back to hating each other."

Duncan opened his mouth as if to protest but Leshawna cut him off with a glare. "_Or_ we can continue whining over this till the cows come home and let the rat-ass limo leave without _either_ of us in it."

With that said, she held out an open hand for Duncan. They were so close she nearly speared him in the gut. "We got a deal?"

The delinquent weighed his options, glancing between the hand Leshawna offered him and the limo parked outside, trying to decide whether a weekend trip to the spa was worth the sacrifice of his pride in teaming with Leshawna and Harold. It wasn't like anyone was going to know, after all. It wouldn't look like he was going soft or anything…

After a brief moment of further thought, Duncan found himself taking the hand, squeezing it once before pulling it back quickly. "Deal. _Whatever_. Can I freaking _go _now?"

Leshawna stepped back into the rest of the Gaffers, grinning proudly. "All in favor of Duncan going on the spa trip say '_Aye'_!"

Though Heather looked suspicious, DJ and Harold looked plain scared. It seemed the combined threat of Leshawna _and_ Duncan was enough to convince the others not to argue. The vote was unanimous.

"I had a feeling you would all be able to see my logic," Duncan quipped, flexing his fingers and making them crack as he headed off in the direction of the limousine with a smirk. He waved over his shoulder without looking back at the remaining campers. "Later _suckers_!"

He walked out of the stage and over to the Lame-O-Sine parked just outside, slipped in through the open door to be greeted by the smell of old food and body odor. Duncan really couldn't have cared less. He was out of this hell-hole at least for a weekend. Crossing his arms behind his head and closing his eyes, the free delinquent tried to relax back into the ancient car seat as the limo began to move.

"All right, Hector," Duncan began in an annoyed voice, specifically putting up a foot to obscure the camera lenses installed in the back of the driver's seat that was staring right at him. "I know you've got a speech on my conduct worked up and ready so spit it out now so I can freaking _try_ to enjoy my weekend with you breathing down my shirt like a creeper."

"Sorry," a voice crooned, "but Hector is presently unavailable. May _I_ take a message?"

Duncan's eyes shot open and he bolted upright so fast he just missed hitting his head against the roof of the limousine by a centimeter. He spun to face the other occupant of the limo in shock.

_"Courtney?"_

The CIT smirked lightly, sitting—no, _draped_—across the backseat of the limo opposite him with all the grace of a movie star. She was wearing a white, floor length halter gown and pearls, looking like Marilyn Monroe's younger brunette sister. "Miss me, handsome?"

The connection between Duncan's brain and mouth seemed to have been severed as he stared at his Princess. And the incredible amount of skin she was sporting with the tight and flowing silk dress.

Grinning even more smugly now at his mute reaction, Courtney reached across the seat (giving Duncan a _fantastic_ view down her dress, also not seeming to care in the slightest) and snapped his jaw up with one finger.

"You're gonna start drooling any second now, Duncan," she teased playfully. "And believe me when I say this limo is gross enough _as is._"

Drawing the lone finger slowly down from his chin, over the spikes of his dog collar and down the front of his chest, Courtney continued in a purr, "Not that you don't like it _dirty_ or anything…"

Her touch seemed to have brought him out of his catatonic state. Duncan quickly pulled away from her hand, shaking his head of the haze that had accumulated and rubbed his eyes with a groan.

"Just_ great_," he muttered sarcastically, "Now I _know_ I caught that stupid disease and I'm hallucinating."

Courtney pursed her lips at this in annoyance, though Duncan couldn't see it from behind his hands.

"I should've figured," she sighed, rolling her eyes. Louder, she said, "I _told_ them you were going to think you were dreaming if I just showed up dressed like this—"

"Okay, no," Duncan corrected, cutting her off and looking at her again. Except she was still leaning across the backseat to be closer to him and he had to find the strength somewhere inside him to keep his eyes on her face and not _somewhere else_. "I don't 'think' I'm dreaming. I _know_ I'm dreaming."

"Oh?" Courtney sounded slightly amused as she scooted forward to sit right next to him (which made it less and _more_ difficult for him to follow the conversation.) "What makes you so sure?"

Duncan indicated to her outfit, taking the moment to appraise it himself again but just for a second. "Because you only dress like Michelle Monaghan or Pamela Anderson in my dreams," he explained, taking his chin and resting it in his palm as he rested his elbow against his knee. With a dejected sigh, he added, "And I've had this one already."

The CIT looked confused. Also slightly skeptical of his mental health. "What?"

"The silk skanky dress, in the backseat of the crappy limo, with the whole seduction bit," he listed, ticking off on his fingers. Duncan sounded disappointed as he let out another sigh, rolling his eyes upwards and gesturing aimlessly. "Any second now Chef is gonna show up and bitch—"

As if on cue, the window to the driver slid down and Chef's voice barked, "Would you two maggots keep it quiet back there! I'm trying to talk on the phone!"

Duncan indicated the window as it rolled back up in an '_I told you so!_' fashion.

Courtney just gave him a smile so sugary sweet that Duncan knew it could _only_ be mischievous. "I could _prove_ you're not dreaming. If you want me to…?" She let the question trail off enticingly.

Dream or no dream, Courtney was the expert in pushing Duncan's buttons, whether she knew it or not.

He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, trying to look nonchalant. Really, he was just hoping she wouldn't look down and read the reaction in his pants.

"Okay then…" Duncan started, mentally debating whether or not to cross his legs, "How did you get here? Where's Hector?"

"Your parole officer has absolutely no faith in you," she told him simply, moving some skirt to tuck her feet behind her on the seat. Duncan noted she was barefoot which he found _unbelievably _hot—especially for a dream. "He totally didn't think you were going to win and had a court hearing with another gutterpunk scheduled today which he couldn't cancel."

Courtney shrugged. "So Chris pulled me from the Aftermath studio, shoved me in this dress—which is about two sizes too small if you haven't noticed—" (Duncan had _indeed_ noticed)_ "—_and told me to go wait in the Limo in the rare case in which you won."

It all sounded true enough. But still, the rule abiding Courtney he remembered would have never played Chris' game. Speaking of…

"Why did you agree to it? To doing _this_ of all things?" he demanded. "Last I saw _you_, you'd ditched me for a million bucks!" He might've been still a little bitter.

At that, Courtney crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. This was a _very_ specific Courtney reaction to embarrassment or discomfort that Duncan wasn't sure his brain could so accurately reproduce on its own. "I—Well, I still feel pretty crappy over that," she admitted, glancing away from him. "You _know_ how I can get when I'm competing."

"There's therapy for that, you know," Duncan told her with a little grin as they felt the Limo turn a corner and Courtney pressed up against him a little bit more because of the momentum. The punk voted against crossing his legs. Mostly because he wasn't sure he'd be able to.

"Oh, shut up," the girl beside him replied, rolling her eyes. Resuming her earlier answer, she went on exasperated, "_Look_: Chris just said I had to wait here in the limo and be vixen-y if you by some rare miracle managed to win the challenge—_speaking_ of people who don't have faith in you, by the way—and not only would you forgive me, but he'd give me another chance to get on the show, okay?"

"I knew it!" Duncan exclaimed in indignation as he twisted out of his position to turn and face her. He pointed at Courtney accusingly. "So _that's_ why you agreed to this! So you'd get another shot to win the million bucks you ditched me for _last_ time!"

Despite to obvious displeasure written across his face, Courtney barely flinched at Duncan's allegations. "No," she replied, her lips tipping upwards. Her eyes were gleaming with something Duncan couldn't quite place. "I _agreed_ because I've been waiting the last two months to do _this_ again."

With one arm still partially pointing in her general direction, Duncan was too surprised to do much of anything when Courtney grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him, just like she had done outside the Bass Cabin what felt like years ago. But the kiss was deeper and far more driven. She even went so far as to push him up against the car door with a fair amount of pressure from just her body alone. When she pulled back after a few infinite seconds, the delinquent was too stunned to manage a coherent sentence.

"It's…it's just a dream…hallucination…" he choked aloud to himself, desperately trying to shake off his hormones again as Courtney briefly hitched up her dress to her thigh and kicked a bare leg over him to straddle his lap, interrupting his internal pep talk with another searing kiss.

"It's the drugs…in the pizza…" Duncan tried again breathlessly, trying to shake off the shock when Courtney had released his lips once more, though he wasn't sounding very convincing. "She's not really—"

"She can hear you, you know," Courtney replied with a knowing smile, her low voice laced with a curious excitement as she traced her hands down to his shoulders.

She trailed kisses down his jaw and to his throat around the dog collar. "I'm sorry about the suitcase," she murmured into his warmth, pulling his shirt down slightly so she could kiss his collarbone. "So, so, so, so, _so _very sorry"

Kissing him lightly on the lips once more, she moved her lips to the side of his face and licked the shell of his ear. "_Say you forgive me_," she whispered huskily, pressing herself flush against him.

Duncan swallowed hard, trying to work through the suffocating haze in his mind as his hands grabbed her butt of their own accord to keep her where she was (at least until he could decide on what else he had to do). How could he say no to that tone of voice? Still, he tried, "Courtney, I can't—you're not—"

"Not what? Real? Ready? _Willing_?" she whispered heatedly, pulling back enough that their noses were brushing against each other but her body arched to press her lower half further into him. Courtney's eyes were half open as she continued, "Not crazy for you? Not everything you ever wanted?"

He couldn't take much more of this. But Duncan had to be _sure_. Okay, well not necessarily _sure _sure but a little more was going to push him to the point of no longer caring...

"I—" Duncan started but was cut off when the car suddenly jerked forward as Chef made a particularly sharp stop, nearly sending the couple out of their seat (as neither was wearing a seat belt).

Courtney swore, using words Duncan had _never_ heard her use before, and her expression flipped to annoyance in the same second. She pushed off Duncan enough to turn her torso around towards the front of the limo and shouted angrily, "For crying out loud, Hatchet! It is two damn pedals and a _wheel_, not a jet rocket circuit board! Do you even _have _a valid driver's license, you pathetic excuse for a—!"

That did it. Duncan grabbed her face and turned it back to him, crushing his lips against hers. Courtney responded eagerly, wrapping her darker arms around his neck, careful to position them under his dog collar to avoid accidents. He reached under the dress to grab her bare thighs and felt more than heard Courtney moan in the back of her throat.

He was pretty sure this was what going insane felt like.

"Camera…" he said suddenly, thinking briefly of the other insane people on the show (though it was exceptionally hard to concentrate on anything that wasn't Courtney at the moment) and therefore remembering the device just behind the girl in his lap.

Courtney's leg shot out on a spring release mechanism, her bare heel smashing into the lens of the camera installed into the driver's seat, cracking it and making it hiss and produce sparks. There was a cry of surprise from the other side of the seat, though Duncan barely registered it.

"_What_ camera?" Courtney asked, the innocent tone of the question betrayed by her wicked grin as she unfastened his dog collar behind his neck.

"Oh dear_ God_," Duncan pleaded as dug his nails into the smooth skin of her thighs and kissed her mouth again. "Please, _please_ Jesus God Almighty don't be a dream," he begged, his words mumbled together as he kissed down the mocha colored expanse of flesh that stretched from Courtney's throat down to places he'd been dying to get his hands on from day one. "Please don't be a dream, please don't be a dream, please oh please, _please—_"

"Duncan? Please oh please _shut_ _up_," Courtney replied, somewhere between a breathless whisper and a gasp. There was still enough of Courtney's signature command to get him to oblige her as she traced her hands down his sides to grab the hems of both his shirts at once. "You're ruining the mood."

"Got'cha," he answered quickly. Moving his palms up to grab her hips, he pushed her off him momentarily (to her adorable squeak of surprise) and up against the car door, allowing for more control on his part as he was able to increase the pressure against her and free one of his hands to blindly grope up her bare back for one of the straps to her halter top, dominating her with another kiss.

Far too occupied, Duncan didn't notice the car rock slightly (in the opposite direction he was moving) as Chef stormed out of the car. He hardly heard the sounds of the cook's angry complaining as the man stalked over to the side of the car.

He _did _notice, however, when Hatchet furiously yanked open the door he and Courtney were supported on with a huff of indignation. Both he and Courtney let out cries of surprise as he felt them both fell out of the limo altogether and…

Onto the floor of the boy's trailer.

Duncan's head shot up immediately. He sat up quickly, absentmindedly rubbing his hip and shoulder which were hurting from where he'd landed on them from his fall from the top bunk. It took him a few moments of panicked searching (Where was he? What was going on? Where was Courtney?) but eventually his surroundings set in on him and pieces of the evening began to fall into place.

He'd made a fair amount of noise falling from his bunk but all the other guys were three different ways to unconscious from their all-nighter the night before. They'd all stayed up studying for the doctor challenge, which Duncan had won for his team, but he'd just…forfeited the reward…over to…

Duncan's signature scowl settled on his face just as the realization did. Roughly grabbing his pillow which had also fallen from his bunk, he climbed back up into his bed, and removed his pocket knife from inside it. With as much force as he possessed, he viciously stabbed it into his bed post, imagining instead that he was stabbing the sister who'd just _punked _him. _Big time. _

This is what he got for going soft.

Then he threw himself down on his bed, shoved the pillow over his face, and began to yell and swear every single insult and profanity in his vocabulary as applied to himself for being the single largest _pansy _in the entire universe.

* * *

A/N: In between writing 'Courtney vs. The World' and 'The Art of Pretending It Isn't Your Fault', I whipped up this little one-shot in two days. Those waiting on updates for the aforementioned stories should not be concerned. Those _not_ waiting…_should_ be waiting. ;)

If you were paying attention, I make reference to several of Duncan's fetishes throughout the piece including, but not limited to: Marilyn Monroe (who I'm pretty sure every man is a little in love with), Michelle Monaghan (who I've always thought looks like an adult version of Courtney), Pamela Anderson (who has a bra size invented just for her), bare feet (unusual but strangely fitting), the backseat of cars (different locations), female aggression (dominatrix, anyone?), and of course, Courtney's signature bickering.

He was doomed from the start. ^._.^


End file.
